


The Name of the Game

by extrasolar (hearthope)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 08:23:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15215039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearthope/pseuds/extrasolar
Summary: It’s a simple query to start with. It always is. One small, stupid thought, and then everything spirals so far out of control that Aran ends up scolding them, or coach is making them do extra sprints. It’s hard to be surprised anymore what chaos the twins are capable of, and yet—“Hey, do you think you could fit a person in one of those?”Suna's current concern: “There’s no way I’d let myself get caught up in the twins dumb antics.”





	The Name of the Game

It’s a simple query to start with. It always is. One small, stupid thought, and then everything spirals so far out of control that Aran ends up scolding them, or coach is making them do extra sprints. It’s hard to be surprised anymore what chaos the twins are capable of, and yet—

“Hey, do you think you could fit a person in one of those?”

Osamu and Atsumu are both picking up stray volleyballs and eyeing Akagi as he dumps his own armful into one of the carts. Suna narrows his eyes at them both. They’d better not be genuinely thinking about it.

“Oh, definitely. There’s plenty of space. For your tiny ass, anyway.”

_“You’re not even a centimeter taller.”_

“Still taller than you.”

Suna continues to help Gin take the net down, but keeps his eyes on the devil duo.  They’re going to get into something and he knows it. It’ll probably go about as well as when they tried to put away volleyballs handsfree, and they don’t need another broken light. They don’t need any more broken _anything_.

The twins share a look that Suna doesn’t appreciate at all, and then Atsumu calls Akagi over.

“You don’t get to use Akagi, that’s cheating,” Osamu says. Atsumu only shrugs.

“I was unaware there were rules.”

Osamu glares and Suna immediately turns away. He knows what’s coming. He always asks, even though Suna always says no. He swore to himself in their first year he wouldn’t get involved in any of their stupid antics, and so far, he’s successfully stuck by that.

The problem is, rejecting Osamu has gotten progressively harder since then.  Because now Osamu gives him the same look he does when they’re studying late in the afternoon and he wants the last raspberry macaron even though he knows it’s Suna’s. Osamu always gets the last macaron.  Suna is always left with this feeling gnawing in his chest at his satisfied smile.

It’s stupid. And unfair. It’s stupidly unfair.

He doesn’t want to get involved, but he knows he _does_ want other things that make it hard to deny Osamu.

Suna flinches when he hears his name called, low and drawn out and pleading. He regrets turning to look the moment he sees Osamu with that _face_ , and who gave him the right anyway, and how the hell did Suna _get here—_

Aran’s already gone back to the clubroom with Kita. Coach isn’t anywhere in sight.  Osamu is awful and so full of shit and sometimes his shoulder bumps against Suna’s when they’re walking home and Suna spends a pathetic amount of time thinking about it.

He asks Gin if he doesn’t mind taking care of the rest of the net.

The volleyball carts are, in fact, capable of holding a full person.

Granted, they’re not easy to get a person into; Atsumu topples onto the floor more than once trying to climb in. It always results in Osamu laughing even harder than he already is, until it’s this awful choking and he’s clutching at his sides. Atsumu gives his cart a hard jostle as he climbs back up to his feet.

Suna leans on the edge of the cart Osamu’s lying in, watching Atsumu try for the fourth time. He glances at Osamu — who’s still snickering — and looks away before he’s caught doing it. It’s not fair that he can do this. He once sprayed Ren’s deodorant right into his eyes; he shouldn’t be able to halt Suna’s breath in his throat every time he so much as smiles.

“There.  Can we go?”

Suna looks to find Atsumu’s finally gotten himself settled into the cart, Akagi carefully holding it so he doesn’t tip right back out.

“Waiting on you,” Osamu says, “as always.”

Atsumu bites back with snappy words that Osamu only snorts at. They carefully line the carts up as far back as they can at the opposite end of the gym from the equipment room.  Suna’s hands grip the cart right behind Osamu’s shoulders, and his fingers keep brushing his t-shirt, and he tries not to think about it. He’s kind of absolutely pathetic.

“First one across the threshold,” Atsumu says. “No cheating.”

“That’s _real_ rich, coming from you,” Osamu replies.

“Shut up! Gin! Gin, count us down.”

Gin watches them, calculating, probably debating whether or not that’s enough involvement to get him in trouble when this all goes to hell.

Suna’s about to ruin such a good track record.

Gin apparently decides the risk against him is minimal and calls out a countdown from three. The second he finishes saying _one_ , Atsumu shouts at Akagi to _go go go_ , and Osamu lets out some muddled sound that isn’t quite words. Gin clears out of the gym before he can get seen anywhere near this.

The cart shakes and nearly tips rolling across the gym floor as Suna pushes it, and Osamu’s laugh echoes off the walls. This is stupid and unsafe and Suna can’t keep the smile from his face as he tries to stay ahead of Akagi pushing Atsumu.

They don’t quite make it to the equipment room. They get close, but the carts were made for volleyballs, not full people weighing upwards of seventy-five kilograms. The legs of Atsumu’s cart buckle, sending him falling straight into Suna and Osamu. They all end up toppled onto the ground, Atsumu cursing and Osamu full-on cackling. He tilts his head back to look at Suna with a blown out grin and Suna’s heart is all messed up in his chest.

It’s different from the mocking smirk he has when he’s screwing with Atsumu, and different from the soft smile that comes out in study sessions that run late. It’s whole and vibrant and strung through with delight, and Suna can’t take his eyes off him.

And the thing is— Osamu peels his grapes and leaves the skins scattered on Suna’s desk, and doesn’t always finish mopping up the gym after practice. But he also stops to offer water to stray cats, and texts Suna at three in the morning worked up over the drama he’ll never admit to anyone else that he watches. He’s annoying and loud and messy, but Suna also knows he tries not to be.  He’s kind of sweet and kind of lame and sometimes he falls asleep with his head on Suna’s shoulder when they’ve given up on trying to do homework.

He grins at Suna, and Suna can’t keep himself from smiling back.

“Someone’s gonna have to tell Kurosu,” Akagi says, and Osamu turns away to look at him.

“Atsumu broke the cart,” Osamu says. “He can go.”

“ _Ass_.”

“It’s only fair.  Either go tell him or stay with Suna to clean up.”

Atsumu narrows his eyes. Suna wants to ask why the hell _he’s_ at all responsible for cleaning up.

It’s karma, probably. For letting himself get involved. For being so gone for Osamu that he couldn’t say no to what he _knew_ was going to end in a mess.

Akagi slips out with Atsumu. Suna doesn’t really trust either of them to go to their coach and own up to the wreckage, but it’ll get around to him eventually. Hopefully his own name doesn’t come up, although knowing his teammates, it probably will.

Neither he nor Osamu has bothered to get up. Instead they stay sitting sprawled out on the gym floor between the ruined carts and the remaining stray volleyballs they should’ve been picking up this whole time. Osamu — leaning back on his hands — doesn’t look like he at all intends to move, so Suna doesn’t either.

“I bet he tries to blame me,” Osamu comments, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling.  “You’ve got my back though, dontchya?” He turns his gaze onto Suna, all relaxed and comfortable. “You’ll defend my honor.”

“What honor?” Suna asks, voice flat even as his mind stutters.

Osamu looks like he wants to smile but doesn’t. “That’s so rude. After everything I’ve done for you—“

“You steal the fruit from my bento every day at lunch.”

At this, Osamu laughs, head falling back again. The sunlight’s slanting in golden rays from the gym’s high windows, and the only word Suna’s mind is supplying is _beautiful_ , which . . . _yikes_.

He’s too far gone and doesn’t know how to step back from it.

“I know you pack extra for me anyway.”

Suna narrows his eyes. “I try to be prepared.”

“Sure, sure,” Osamu says. “It’s okay, I know you secretly care about me and want me to have as many pear slices as I can eat.”

“You’re a pest,” Suna tells him.

Osamu hums, smile growing satisfied. “Yet you still keep me around. Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret safe.” He reaches out to pat Suna’s hand in what’s probably supposed to be some sort of reassuring manner, but Suna jolts away. Osamu snorts.  “What, don’t trust me? Want me to give you a secret, too?”

“It’s only fair,” Suna says, trying to convince his heart to slow _down_ already.

“Alright.” He leans in conspiratorially, and he’s so close, he’s _so close_ , and his smile has turned to its own ghost as he murmurs, “I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else.”

Suna forces himself to look away. This is so, so unfair. “Shut up. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“What?” He’s expecting Osamu to laugh, and he’s not.  “I mean it. I’m glad it’s you. No one else I’d wanna be around more, you know?”

It’s not—It’s not a proper confession on either end.  Suna’s not even sure it counts as one. But Osamu looks entirely serious, and he’s never been one to lie anyway.

They clean up the mess and don’t wait for Atsumu before starting the walk home. It’s just the two of them, no one to witness the heat on Suna’s cheeks as he catches Osamu’s hand in his own halfway back. Their secret, for now.

(For now. It only really lasts until a week later, when Atsumu bursts into Osamu’s room without knocking — because of course he does — and catches them compromised. Even over the frustration at having to break apart from Osamu, and the sound of Atsumu’s freaked yelling, he revels in Osamu’s laugh, and the red painted across his cheeks.)

(It’s worth it.)

**Author's Note:**

> my full piece for the hq rarepair zine!


End file.
